


Singing Loud for All to Hear

by cereal, gallifreyburning



Series: fic tennis [6]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereal/pseuds/cereal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyburning/pseuds/gallifreyburning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Tenth Doctor/Rose AU fic, loosely themed around the movie 'Elf.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It is something of an achievement, in a store full of ugly jumpers, to be the absolute ugliest. It is the sort of honor only someone with a precise knowledge of the store’s inventory can bestow, and Rose Tyler, well into her fourth hour of folding jumpers this shift, feels confident she’s made the right call.

Garish and glittery, like Christmas exploded, the jumpers in front of her are the most horrible ones currently on offer in all of Henrik’s.

Still, as cold as she is, she’ put one on in a flash, if she thought she could get away with it.

“It’s freezing in here, Shireen,” Rose shouts over to the cashier stand. “I’m going down to the basement, to see if the furnace is out.”

It isn’t likely Shireen heard her; the queue is massive, and the store holiday music is at concert hall levels, following Rose as she walks the aisles to the service lift.

As the doors close, and the lift descends, the soundtrack is muffled, but still audible.

Who are these people that are ‘ _simply having a wonderful Christmas time_?’ They certainly aren’t retail workers.

The doors open again, and Rose steps out into the basement, humming along despite herself. Those damn songs follow her home every night, haunting her dreams.

It’ll be a relief when Christmas is over and everyone goes back to normal. This excess of cheer always makes her twitchy, and working overtime so shoppers can spend money they don’t have, well past normal store hours, doesn’t feel very merry.

The song ends, and Rose braces for the next – poor Grandma, about to be run over by a reindeer for the fiftieth time that week – but instead of holiday music, a clatter echoes through the corridor.

Walking further down the hall, Rose keeps her eyes open for coworkers skiving off — it would be just like Adam to hide in the basement when it’s his turn at the returns desk.

“Is that someone mucking about? Who is it? If I have to stay late at gift-wrap because of you, you’re gonna hear about it,” Rose says, ducking around a group of mannequins.

The noise sounds again, and Rose darts toward it, turning a corner and colliding straight into someone.

It’s a man, in a brown pinstriped suit, and he looks anxious, right up to his hair.

It makes Rose feels panicked and she moves away quickly before the man grabs her hand.

“Don’t run,” he says, and she’s struck briefly by how cool his hand feels, even in the frigid basement.

She pulls her hand away and raises her fists, “Who are you? What are you doing down here? Tell me right now. First in my class at the store self defense seminar.” Her voice is remarkably level, and she’s proud.

He grins at her and it’s charming enough that she lets her guard down just a little. Not much, but her hands fall back to her sides. “I’m the Doctor,” he says. “And I was turning the heat down. You humans keep everything so warm, hardly in the spirit of a season all about snow, and snowmen, and snow…balls.”

Rose is pretty sure that bloke just said “you humans,” but that doesn’t make any sense, and she ignores it.

“Sir, if you have a problem with the temperature in the store, you can file a complaint at the customer service desk,” she says. “This area is for employees only.”

The man, the  _Doctor_ , grins at her again, “I am an employee – second floor, in the back – I’m an elf.”

Rose narrows her eyes and waves in his general direction. “If you’re working in the second floor toy department, and you’re out of your green tights and curly-toed shoes, Cassandra’s going to skin you.” Ironically, the toy section is run by the bitchiest manager in the entire store, a woman who might as well be the Grinch.

“My shift starts in fifteen minutes, plenty of time to change,” the Doctor says, rubbing his hands together, almost as though in anticipation of something. He grins, joyfully big and full of teeth. A tickle starts up in Rose’s stomach, something smack between terror and excitement.

Doctor, elf, nutter — whatever this bloke is, he’s not normal and he’s not  _safe_ , not by a long shot.

He barrels on with hardly a pause: “It’s a stereotype, you know. The tights and curly-toed shoes and everything. I mean, some stodgy old geezers with the white beards and pointy red hats stick to the old ways, never leaving the workshop, always fiddling and making toys and never daring to plunge into the real world, but not all elves are like that.” Reaching up to straighten his tie, he tilts his head and stretches his neck, something like smugness in his expression.

“Right,” Rose says slowly, drawing out the vowel. Not a doctor or elf then,  _definitely_  a nutter. “If Wilson finds out you’ve been down here mucking about with the boiler, he’ll help Cassandra murder you.”

“What, Wilson? Naaaaaah, he’s a teddy bear!” the Doctor says. Which is a blatant lie, because if anyone at Henrik’s is bitchier than Cassandra, it’s the maintenance supervisor.

“He’s a cranky, overweight, middle-aged tyrant with gout whose life ambitions have been suffocated in the basement of this miserable shop,” Rose retorts with a frown. That tickling in her stomach hasn’t let up, and she’s feeling more irritated by the second.

The Doctor’s eyes widen in the dim hallway, whites showing all the way around his chocolate-brown irises. “Miserable shop?” he echoes incredulously, voice pitched a bit high. “Have you  _seen_  the Christmas tree on the main floor? Right inside the front door? Twenty-two feet tall, nine hundred and sixty-eight ornaments gracing its boughs, three thousand thirty-nine lights shining like stars. And the tree in ladies’ lingerie, right next to the cashier’s stand, eight feet tall, four hundred ornaments, a thousand six hundred twenty-two lights! And the tree on the counter in the women’s loo on the fifth floor, three feet tall with —”

“Whoa there, Rudolph,” Rose snaps, holding out her hand in front of him. “I don’t want an inventory of every bleedin’ speck of tinsel on every tree in the place. I just want heat, so I don’t freeze to death while I’m trying to meet my quotas by selling jumpers to posh ladies and their brat kids, okay?”

The Doctor rocks back on his heels, eyes still wide, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I see.”

“So just do us all a favor and turn the boiler back on!” Rose doesn’t mean to get shrill, necessarily, but the fact that this Doctor bloke’s wearing the same sort of expression a puppy would when you take away his beloved bone isn’t helping matters. It’s just making that tickle in her stomach stronger, and she isn’t quite sure what to do with her hands.

Crossing her arms, she pins her hands under her biceps and frowns — at herself, really, at the fact that there’s not enough hideous Christmas jumpers in the country for her to meet that quota, at the fact that she’s been working at Henrik’s a month and has hardly given the twenty-two foot tall Christmas tree in the entrance a glance, at the fact that her stomach’s growling because her alarm didn’t go off this morning and she didn’t have time to eat breakfast before she clocked in for her shift.

“Sure.” The Doctor flashes a tight smile. “Snowman-incinerating heat, coming right up.” He shifts, as though he’s about to turn away. Pauses, head swiveling back in her direction. “What’s your name, by the way?”

There’s a snappy comeback right on the tip of her tongue, something about if she’s meant to call him  _Doctor_ , he can call her _Shop Clerk_. Then her mother’s voice is in the back of her head, haltingly suggesting they skip exchanging gifts this year, in light of the nonexistent state of the family finances, and she bites it back.

Grown man – grown, well-groomed, suit-wearing man – working as an elf in a department store? Maybe he’s one of those bored, do-gooding, rich people. He could be Doctor Henrik, Jr., for all she knows. Best keep her mouth shut, and keep her job.

She doesn’t mind not getting presents herself, but she’ll do everything in her power to give her mum something to open. With her employee discount, she might just be able to buy her a jumper, even – one of the slightly less obnoxious ones.

“Rose,” she says. “My name is Rose.” 

The Doctor nods, “Nice to meet you, Rose,” he says, and sticks his hand out for a shake. She takes it hesitantly – it really is freezing. How can a person be so cold, and want to be colder still? It’s like he’s from the bleeding North Pole or something.

“Likewise, Doctor,” she says, and is that his hand, warming up already? Eccentric millionaire or not, the blood circulation on this bloke could use a look. She drops her hand back down and there’s a tingling in her fingertips, like when she holds a hot cup of tea after coming in from the snow.

Courtesy would dictate that she not just run away from the six foot tall elf standing in front of her, and she tries for a graceful exit.

“Well, guess I’ll be, you know, going,” she says, giving him a clumsy smile. The way this Doctor is looking at her, there’s definitely more happening than he’s giving away.

She looks awkwardly around the corridor. There are security cameras all over the place, the last thing she needs is Mr. Henrik, Sr. catching her disrespecting his son.

Her eyes end up on the low ceiling above them – what is  _that_? Is it – oh. Oh, no.

“Mistletoe!” the Doctor chirps, sounding delighted, as if he’s found something he thought he’d lost. He stays where he is though, no advancing in for a snog. It’s a testament to how badly she needs a shag that there’s a split second where she entertains the idea of kissing him anyway. He’s plenty handsome, and she’s beginning to think the peppermint and hot cider smell in the air isn’t something they’re pumping in through the vents, in fact, it seems to be coming from  _him_.

She leans for a quick sniff and, as the Doctor’s eyes widen, she realizes how it must look. She snaps her head back.

“Human Resources nightmare, that is,” she says. “Can’t believe they’d allow it.”

The Doctor looks almost guilty, “Really? Do you think so?” He tugs on his ear. “I bet it’s just the Christmas spirit. Maybe somebody ran out of room for decorations on the main levels, and thought the basement could use some holiday cheer.”

Rose nearly rolls her eyes, “Sounds like that somebody didn’t read the company handbook. Fraternization between employees is discouraged on pages nine  _and_  ten. Wouldn’t know it from Mickey and Shireen though, you know I had to pull a double last week because they both overslept? Easy to do when you’re sharing an alarm clock –”

The Doctor’s eyes widen and Rose feels her cheeks go warm. Cold air and an empty stomach and she’s blathering all over the place. Mickey and Shireen don’t even bother her, not really. She and Mickey are well over and – the Doctor’s still staring at her.

“Um, anyway, I better go. And we better take that down,” she says, gesturing toward the mistletoe. “Don’t want anyone losing their jobs.” She squints at him carefully, looking for tells, but he doesn’t give anything away.

She jumps, trying to unpin the plant from the ceiling, and missing by a few inches. The Doctor smiles at her, apparently pleased to be useful, and reaches up to undo it.

Holding the mistletoe in his hand, he stares at her again, “What’s your last name?”

Oh god, here it is, he’s going right to the offices to write a warning in her file. “Tyler,” she says, resigned.

“Well, Rose Tyler,” he extends his hand to her, mistletoe dangling from his fingertips. “Why don’t you keep this?” He smiles. “Never know when it might come in handy.”

Without thinking, she takes the plant, shoving it into a pocket of her trousers, “Uh. Thanks,” she says, and gives him a small wave before setting off toward the lift, “See you around.”

She passes six rubbish bins on the way back to her section, and though she couldn’t say why, she doesn’t put the mistletoe in any of them.

Used to be, during their fifteen minute lunch break in the employee lounge, Rose would sit with Shireen. There was always plenty to talk about; a big store like Henrik’s is always full of gossip, and it was a nice distraction during the short break, discussing other peoples’ problems.

Now, Shireen is cuddled up with Mickey at the table in the corner, practically sitting on his lap (really, it’s fine that they’re dating, but there are  _plenty_  of chairs to go around, it’s not as though there’s a shortage). Rose knows the other employees in the room well enough to sit with any of them, but she’s been feeling  _off_  since her sojourn down to the basement a few hours ago, and not even that lady who came in and bought six of the ugliest Christmas jumpers Henriks had to offer, and the commission from the sale, could completely snap Rose out of it.

She’s got one eye on the wall clock, noting the seconds tick away until she’s due back in her section, and wishing she had packed a bit more for lunch than just a sandwich and a soda, when someone comes and sits right down on the opposite side of her table.

It’s him. The nutter from the basement.

The way he’s staring at her, serious and focused, Rose’s stomach flops sideways and the back of her neck heats up. She smiles at him before she can even think about it.

He still isn’t in his toy section getup, no tights or curly-toed shoes. Out of the dim basement and under the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights, Rose realizes the pinstriped suit is rumpled, the top button of his oxford open beneath his swirly tie. He’s the very definition of a neat mess. And while he isn’t wearing the full elf costume, he’s got a pointy green felt hat with a little velvet band and buckle around it perched atop his mess of spiky hair.

Staring at her brightly, he slides a pair of Aero bars across the table and leans forward on his elbows.

“I already had sixteen for lunch, and decided I could spare a few. Earlier in the basement, you were a bit cranky. Sometimes when kids’ blood sugar dips they get cranky.” He blinks, seems to realize what he’s just said, and grows flustered. “Not that you’re a kid, I mean of course not, you’re” — he seems to get even more flustered as his gaze slips down from her face to survey her chest; he clears his throat and shifts in his chair — “obviously not a kid, but the blood sugar thing, that’s science. My specialty is kids, though — toy department and all — I was just …” He trails off, staring at her as though he’s waiting to be rescued from this hole he’s dug for himself.

“Thanks,” Rose says, picking up one of the bars and peeling it open. She takes a bite, the chocolate melting across her tongue, warm and sweet. She hasn’t had one of these bars in ages, but they taste better than she remembers. Giving him a smile, she says, “I  _was_  cranky, I suppose. Sorry about that.” She takes another bite of candy. “S’good.”

“Maple syrup?”

Rose has no idea where, exactly, he’s procured the little glass bottle from, but he’s holding out a container of the brown liquid toward her.

“I don’t have any pancakes,” she says, baffled.

“No, for the chocolate bar, silly,” he replies, as though she’s missed the obvious.

She stares at him, and the syrup, for a long second. “Ah. I think it’s fine without, thanks.”

The Doctor’s hand moves, and the little bottle seems to vanish into thin air. The only thing Rose can figure is that he’s stashed it up his sleeve.

Expression growing serious, the Doctor leans forward again. “Now that we’ve got your blood sugar back on track, we’ve got things to discuss, Rose.”

Rose glances at the clock behind the Doctor’s head. She’s got two and a quarter minutes until she’s supposed to be back on the sales floor, so she decides to play along. Why not?

“All right, Doctor,” she replies, mimicking his movement and leaning forward, so they’re hunched over the table toward each other like they’re conspiring about something. Holding his gaze, she puts the chocolate bar between her teeth and snaps off another bite. “Let’s discuss.”

He nods, formally, but the illusion is broken by a wide grin.

“First let me say, I haven’t checked this with the home office, they’re not best pleased with me right now, and I have reason to believe they’re outright ignoring my requests. Honestly, it shouldn’t be so hard to get a shipment of twinkling lights.”

Rose tries her best to keep up, but “home office” doesn’t sound good. Even if the people there are apparently ignoring this Doctor. He’s still talking, going on and on about lights and how they don’t sell the good ones in shops in London and, honestly, how is he supposed to work in an environment like that?

He winds himself down finally, the clock indicating she’s only got a minute to get back to her section. Maybe this is a test, to see if she’s the sort who lingers late over conversation in the break room.

No one’s going to get one over on her, and she holds a hand up.

“Well, nice talking with you again, Doctor,” she says, shoving the rest of the chocolate in her lunch bag and tossing it toward her open locker. “But I’ve really got to get out to the floor.”

She moves to stand from the table and he stops her with a hand on her arm. Awfully tactile, this bloke. 

“Wait, no,” he says. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. Like I said, it’s not confirmed, but I can almost always tell,” he pauses, like that’s supposed to sound impressive. “And I think you, Rose Tyler, are on the nice list.”

She laughs then, because there’s no other response.

“Am I right? Of course, plenty of people  _say_  they’re on nice list when they’re not,” he says, “But I think, in their hearts, they always know.”

The clock is still going, 30 seconds now, and if she’s not got both feet out of the break room, it’s grounds for a warning.

“You’re right,” she agrees quickly, slipping her arm out from under his hand. “Rose Tyler, nice list. 20 years running.”

He claps, “Brilliant! In that case, you should come work in toys.”

This guy is completely mental – nice list?  _Toys_? With  _Cassandra_? No way. He looks so eager though, if she protests, she’ll definitely be late.

“Sure, sure,” she says. “Toys. I’ll put in for the transfer after my shift.” She’s backing up toward the door now, and the Doctor stands, following after her.

“No need for a transfer request,” he tells her. “You can come right now.”

It’s so ridiculous that she stops walking.

“What?”

He nods, confirming. “We’ve got an open spot. I said the lead saleswoman from ladies’ was interested – that’s you, of course – and Cassandra said she’d be thrilled to have you. Well,” he rubs at the back of his neck, “She agreed, at least.”

It’s too much to process, he’d spoken about her? To  _Cassandra_?

“Um, thanks. I really need the commission though, I couldn’t possibly make it in toys.” She’s supposed to be on shift by now, but she’s too flustered to leave.

“We don’t have commission in toys,” he says. “It’s built into our salary, otherwise there’d be the temptation to go straight for the kids, have them go to work on their parents.” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

To be honest, she’d thought about that before, watching bratty kids clutching a brand new toy in each hand as they’d left the store. But still – they’d have to pad the salaries  _a lot_  to make up for holiday commissions.

The Doctor reaches into his jacket and pulls out a pad of paper, showing it to her. “This is what you’d make.”

He hadn’t stopped to write anything down, it’s like the number just appeared on the paper, and she can’t decide if she’s weirded out or not, that he’d apparently thought far enough ahead to scribble the salary down before talking to her.

She glances at the pad again – although, for that amount of money, she’d put up with plenty of weirdness.

“All right, Doctor,” she says. “You’ve found yourself an elf.”

He whoops, loudly, drawing the attention of the rest of the break room before sweeping her up into a hug. It’s definitely him making that peppermint and cider smell, and she leans into him briefly before she can stop herself. It’s a little bit funny, how well they seem to fit together.

“Oh, Rose Tyler, this is going to be fantastic!” He releases her only to grab her hand, tugging her back out onto the floor.

The Doctor pulls her at breakneck speed through the shoe and perfume departments, right to the foot of the escalator in the center of the store. That’s where he skids to a sudden halt, dirty white Chucks wiggling anxiously on the marble floor, as though he’s working up his nerve.

“You alright?” Rose asks, tilting her head to peer up at him. His eyebrows are furrowed together in concern, and she finds herself absently stroking his thumb with her own. His fingers are still cool where they wrap around the back of her hand. He’s got light stubbleburn on his neck, just below his jaw; his bottom lip’s sticking out in concentration. Rose shifts closer to him. “What is it?”

He’s only got eyes for the moving stairs, black and silver metal humming as it steadily moves upward. Shoppers dodge around Rose and the Doctor, stepping onto the escalator and being whisked away, while they stand rooted to the spot.

“Haven’t quite got the trick of it yet,” he says. “Give me ice, any day, I’ll do a tapdance without slipping once. This morning, I stepped onto that machine, and my right foot ended up halfway to the second floor while my left foot was still stuck down here.” He points to the ground, then rolls his hips slightly, wincing. “I think I strained something.”

With the litany of strange things that have happened to Rose today, this feels slightly more manageable than syrup on chocolate bars, or letting a pleasantly daft man without a proper name guide her career decisions.

“Why don’t we just take the lift?”

Sparing her a sidelong glance, he flattens his mouth into a tight line. “Every time I take the lift I get yelled at. I mean honestly, what’s the point of having big shiny buttons on the wall if they’re not all meant to be pressed? Humans are looney, I’d swear this planet is run by asylum escapees.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Rose mutters, suppressing a grin, and pulls him forward. She guides him onto the escalator, and a few tense seconds later, he ends up with his long legs stretched across a few stairs, but he’s at least headed to the second floor.

Even if this is still all a test from upper management, or a prank put on by students at the local uni or something, Rose is feeling less self-conscious about everything by the second. She’s decided that she’s going to enjoy the ride, because wherever she ends up certainly can’t be worse than before her break, when she was stuck folding jumpers and feeling her life tick away minute by tedious minute.

Once they’re on the second floor, the Doctor does a gleeful victory hop and straightens his elf’s cap. Then he’s off again, through linens and children’s clothes to the toy section. It occupies half the floor and is decorated to the nines, lights and trees and tinsel glittering wall-to-wall. Holiday music pumps through the speakers, but for some reason the idea of sleigh bells jing-jing-jingling seems like a pleasanter prospect up here than it had in the women’s department.

They don’t stop, though, the Doctor yanking her right past Cassandra.

“ _Don’t you dare show your face on my sales floor without your uniform on!_ ” she shrieks at their backs, and Rose tries to turn around and offer an apologetic smile, but the Doctor’s got her through a door and into the small stockroom in a flash.

“That woman sounds like my mother,” the Doctor sighs, leading Rose over to a shelf where the employees’ personal belongings are piled, purses, coats, brollies, and the like. There are a few neatly-folded stacks of green and yellow clothes. He lets go of her hand (she resists the impulse to reach for it again, to follow his touch) and picks up an outfit, depositing it into her arms. “Well-l-l-l, my mother was more of a bass. And quite a bit shorter, with thicker whiskers. But harping on and on about the clothes,  _straighten your tunic, make sure your shoes are properly curled,_ you’d think we were about to make an appearance in front of the Big Man himself.”

Rose lifts her eyebrows at him. “The Big Man? Do you mean Mr. Saxon?”

Harold Saxon is the new CEO of Henrik’s; his company, Toclafane International, executed a hostile takeover just a few weeks before Christmas. Mr. Henrik still sits in the head office, still owns the store in name, but he’s hardly more than a puppet anymore. Saxon’s the one calling all the shots. Most of the employees haven’t been thrilled with the changes he’s implemented, everything from cutting benefits to lengthening shifts and eliminating Christmas bonuses. 

At the mention of Saxon’s name, the Doctor’s nose wrinkles and his face puckers in disapproval. “Hardly,” he says. “I mean Santa, of course.”

“Of course.” Things are beginning to click into place. Rose’s tongue pokes out between her lips as she thoughtfully surveys the Doctor. If this poor man’s mother forced him to wear an elf costume when he was a child and made him call Santa Claus “the Big Man,” it’s no wonder the Doctor’s a bit … abnormal.

“Go ahead and change, I’ll be back in a mo’!” The Doctor pats the stack of clothes in her hands, and then grabs his own stack and disappears around a massive shelf full of dolls and trucks.

She turns her back to the door to undress. There's not a tremendous amount of privacy in the room, and she makes quick work of her shoes and trousers. She's struggling to untangle her new uniform when the Doctor's voice drifts through the shelves.

" _I really can't stay..._ "

What? What is he talking about? If this nutter thinks he's got her on Cassandra's team only to abandon her during her first shift, he's got another thing coming.

There's a pause and he clears his throat before repeating himself, " _I really can't stay..._ "

No,  _no_. Hands stilling on her wad of tights, she decides she is not going to dignify this with a response. He can have this conversation face-to-face.

One more time and his voice is louder this go, right behind her.

" _I really can't stay..._ "

She wheels around to see the Doctor's head has popped around the shelves and she yelps, moving to hold up her skirt in front of her bare legs.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing? Turn around! You some sort of pervert? Luring girls into the stock room so you can sneak a peek?"

The skirt is doing at awful job at hiding her modesty, there are bits of her knickers visible at the edges. They're striped like candy canes, a gag gift from Shireen, and when the Doctor, completely flustered now, notices them, his eyes linger briefly.

"Eyes up here!" she barks at him, freeing a hand to point at her face. "Now explain yourself."

He keeps his gaze fixed resolutely on hers, and she sees a hand sneak out to tug at his ear in the periphery."

"Um, well," he stammers, "Thought we could get into the spirit of things, sing a song."

She manages to sneak behind a stack of boxes, only her top half visible, and she begins to shimmy into her tights, breaking eye contact for the moment, as she tugs the skirt on, too.

"What? Why would we sing a song?"

She darts her eyes back up and the Doctor is squinting at her, like he's not sure if she's having him or not.

"To spread cheer, of course," he says. "The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear." The way he recites it, it's like something he's said thousands of times before, a light melody to the rhyme.

"I don't sing," she says, ducking lower behind the boxes to change her shirt.

When she stands again, heading popping up to look at him, he's smiling at her warmly.

"I bet you do," he says. "I bet you have a lovely singing voice."

It's disarming, how earnest he seems, and she feels herself relent, just a little.

"I don't sing in  _public_ ," she clarifies. "And anyway, weren't you singing the girl part?"

He looks aghast at that, "Rose Tyler, I'll have you know that it doesn't matter which parts someone takes, so long as they're  _singing_."

And with that, he ducks back behind the shelves and tries one more time.

" _I really can't stay..._ "

Despite herself, she picks it up, singing softly, " _But baby, it's cold outside..._ "

She can hear the smile in his voice on the response, " _I gotta go away..._ "

Her own voice gets a little louder, " _But baby it's cold outside..._ "

" _This evening has b--_ "

The door to the stock room slams open, Cassandra charging through it. "Less singing, more working!"

Rose nods sharply, and Cassandra bolts back out the door. The Doctor steps out fully from behind the shelves, in costume now, and Rose can't help but grin.

Long, skinny legs encased in yellow tights, and a fluffy green coat, trimmed with white. It's topped off with a black belt, and she laughs as her eyes skate down to his feet. He's not changed his shoes, the rubber soles of his trainers just barely visible, but there's a covering over top, making them look like elf booties.

"Don't tell," he says. "These aren't regulation, but they're better for running. And, of course, skipping." He nods like this is obvious.

She moves from behind the boxes, smoothing her hands down her own outfit before placing her hat on her head. The Doctor's fingers twitch, as if he wants to touch her, but he stills them, and his eyes widen.

"You look  _beautiful_ ," he breathes, and then reins himself back in. "Um, for a human."

What an odd thing to say. "Gee, thanks," she tells him.

He shakes his head, clearing it out, and then extends his hand to her. "Allons-y, Rose Tyler!"


	2. Chapter 2

As far as retail goes, the toy section is much more enjoyable than women’s clothing. Sure, Rose has to suffer through a short orientation with Cassandra, and she has to deal with a few spoiled kids and demanding parents, but most of the children are happy and excited.

The Christmas lights strung up everywhere twinkle happily, and Rose finds herself whistling “Winter Wonderland” more than once, and during a short customer lull around midafternoon, Rose tries to guess the height of the Christmas tree beside the nutcracker display. She bets the Doctor can tell her, if she asks – she sidles over to where he’s organizing the Barbies alphabetically according to profession, and without even looking at it, he says, “Nine and a half feet.”

Attention still fixed on the Barbies, boxes stacked in a large and complicated configuration on the shelf, he hums a few bars of “Baby It’s Cold Outside.” Rose picks up a box waiting on the floor and puts it into his hand before humming the next bit back at him.

Just then, Cassandra walks by, hands clasped behind her back, and gives them both a stern glare.

The rest of Rose’s shift passes with remarkable speed. The Doctor is a whirlwind of helpful enthusiasm, seemingly everywhere at once. Whenever Rose is stumped about which is the newest Gyromax Helicopter or where to find the Chester Rocking Horse, she catches the Doctor’s eye and he gives her a wide grin and points toward the proper aisle.

Finally in the late afternoon, after Rose finishes showing a father and daughter to the blocks and building toys, Cassandra marches over with a frown on her face.

“Listen, Tyler, don’t think you’ll be getting overtime pay just because you’re staying past your shift.”

Rose glances at her watch in surprise and realizes it’s true; she was due to clock out a while ago. Her work was so … well, so _unlike_  work, she’d lost track of time.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize,” Rose replies earnestly. It occurs to her, she also hasn’t seen the Doctor around in a while, and she resists the impulse to survey the aisles behind Cassandra for him.

“You’re due for the morning shift tomorrow. I expect you to be here forty-five minutes before opening. We’ve got inventory to do, and a few sections to mark down.”

The urge to give this pompous woman a mock salute is overwhelming, so Rose tries to cram her hands into her trouser pockets. Except she hasn’t got any, she’s still in her elf costume; she ends up fiddling with the hem of her green dress instead. “Yes ma’am.”

Cassandra doesn’t catch the sarcastic undertone. “Good. And do something with your hair tomorrow, would you? I don’t want any of the children mistaking that mess for a bird’s nest.”

“Cassandra!”

The warm, booming voice makes both women jump. Rose whirls around and finds herself face-to-face with a handsome blond bloke in a dark business suit, crimson tie around his neck. He’s smiling, light brown eyes glittering at Rose in a way that makes her want to take a step back. Of course, if she does that she’ll end up in Cassandra’s arms, so Rose stands her ground.

“Who is this delightful new helper we have for Santa?”

Cassandra shifts behind Rose. “This is Rose Tyler, Mr. Saxon. Just transferred over from the women’s department at noon. She’s about to clock out for the day.”

Mr. Saxon’s gaze slides down Rose’s body and right back up again. She unconsciously tugs at the bottom of her green dress, trying to cover more of her thighs. “Miss Tyler, in that costume you look just like a Christmas present, all green and yellow.”

If a bloke in a bar tried to use that line on her, Rose would have given him a face full of her drink and walked away. As it is, facing her employer, she stares at the ground and bites her tongue. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Saxon. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late clocking out.”

“Well I shan’t keep you. By all means. I look forward to seeing you around again. Welcome to the toy department.” He’s still smiling, his eyes following her as she skirts sideways around him and makes a break for the stockroom. After a few seconds, Mr. Saxon’s voice starts up again, and Cassandra answers him, but Rose doesn’t give their words any notice. She just wants to change into her regular clothes and get home and if she happens to see the Doctor again, too – well, that wouldn’t be so terrible.

Halfway there, stockroom door in sight, a hand darts out from the aisle of plush toys and pulls her sideways. Rose stifles a yelp, even as she loses her balance. Her feet don’t move as fast as the rest of her body and she topples over right on top of the Doctor, crouching behind a large display of teddy bears.

He lets out a grunt as Rose lands against him, his lean body hardly cushioning her impact — his knee jabs her thigh, his elbows flung out at angles and his fist bumping her under the arm. The teddy bear display comes silently raining down on them both like a hailstorm of fluff, burying them together in soft darkness.

Lying atop the Doctor, her cheek pressed into his sternum, Rose’s first instinct is to wiggle away, to demand to know what he thinks he’s doing, but somehow in the fuzzy blackness his hand finds her face and his long fingers cover her mouth.

“Shh,” he breathes. “Listen.”

At first all she can hear is the buzz of customers and Christmas music, and she thinks for a moment that’s what he means. Maybe he’s trying to get her to appreciate it all – something, she has to admit, she started doing more than a couple of hours ago.

But then, just below the din, she can hear Mr. Saxon and Cassandra. She nods under the Doctor’s hand and he lifts it from her mouth. She feels his fingers dancing along the sides of her outfit, searching for a place to settle.

The light weight leaves briefly, apparently landing on a teddy bear. It squeaks softly and he jerks his hand away. This time he places it on her back, gently, his fingertips cool even through her costume. Rose empathizes with the bear then, forcing herself not to make a similar noise.

“We’ll roll them out on Friday,” she can hear Saxon say. “With only four days left before Christmas, they’ll have no choice but to buy our brand.”

Cassandra’s voice, when she answers, is lighter and sweeter than Rose has heard all day. “And you’ve arranged it with the company so I get a cut, right?”

Saxon again. “Darling, I  _am_  the company.”

There’s more, but their voices are softer now and Rose can’t make them out. Eventually they quiet entirely.

What was that all about?

She waits for a sign from the Doctor that it’s okay to move, trying not to concentrate on the rise and fall of his chest underneath hers, the pressure of his hand on her back, the way their legs are tangled together, only thin tights between them.

Something about the Doctor puts her at ease, while simultaneously making her incredibly anxious – it’s a weird, but not altogether unpleasant, feeling. It’s a little bit exciting, if she’s honest.

Like Christmas morning, even, or one too many Aero bars, and if that isn’t a sign she needs to go home for the night, she doesn’t know what is.

Slow enough that he can stop her if the coast isn’t clear, Rose pushes up off the Doctor. His hand tightens briefly on her back, but then he’s shifting to stand with her, teddy bears falling to the ground as they get to their feet.

He blinks at her, eyes adjusting back to the store lighting, and then his gaze shifts up to her hair.

“You lost your hat,” he says quietly, ducking down with a small smile to retrieve it from the floor. He holds it out to her when he stands again, and, on impulse, Rose bends instead, so he can place it on her head. He positions it there and gives her another smile, but it’s still subdued, a complete switch from the Doctor she’s seen all day. It’s like he’s thinking something over.

“All right there?” she asks, and he finally seems to focus on her.

“Oh, I’m always all right,” he says. “Christmas, though – that might be in trouble.”

And with that, he pulls her into the stock room.

“Shouldn’t we clean up the teddy bears?” Rose asks hesitantly, watching as the Doctor paces back and forth along one of the short aisles between storage shelves. He’s clearly agitated, bouncing with each step and frowning as he mutters to himself in what sounds like a foreign language. Is he speaking Swedish or something?

He stops suddenly and turns to face her, hands flying to his head and tugging at his hair. “This is worse than I thought.”

Obviously he’s not this upset about a display of teddy bears. Rose ought to be clocking out and going home to her mum’s apartment — today has been overwhelming, in the best way possible, and she can’t stop thinking about her bedroom and her soft mattress and warm fluffy duvet.

But for some reason, the idea of leaving the Doctor alone, in distress like this, makes an ache start up somewhere above her stomach. So instead of walking away to clock out, Rose takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders toward him. “Okay, right. I’m lost, so can we start at the beginning?”

The Doctor’s mouth works silently for a second, as though he’s gathering momentum, and then the words come pouring out: “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so, so sorry. When I met you, I knew you were brilliant helper material, but I didn’t know things would be this bad, I didn’t mean to pull you into such a dangerous situation.

“That man — Harold Saxon — he isn’t a man at all. He isn’t a Harold Saxon, either, his name’s the Master. We’ve known each other since we were kids. We’re both different than everyone else back home, so we’ve always been close. We’ve talked about leaving home before, going south to warmer climes seek our fortunes, but never actually done anything about it.

“Nearly a year now, the Master’s been growing angrier and moodier, receiving secret letters and spouting paranoid ideas about candy cane conspiracies and poisoned gumdrops. He vanished two months ago —  _poof_  — right into thin air.

“It’s madness back home right now, everyone’s in a frenzy trying to meet toymaking deadlines and quotas, and no one could be spared to start a search.” The Doctor’s hands fall down to his sides, and he clenches his fists. “I was the only one who cared enough to follow him. I kept on his trail across the Arctic snow-caps, through the Fruitcake Bog and across the Sugar Cookie Flats, right here to London.

“I’ve never minded being different than everyone else back home — not much, anyway — but the Master’s furious about not fitting in. He could never meet his toy-making quotas, and never got the promotions to toy manufacturing management he wanted, even though he was stone cold brilliant at designing graphic chip processors for game systems.

“And now he’s planning something, something big and terrible. He’s designed a new sort of chip processor, and he’s manipulated the toy market so it’ll be installed into the hottest new game system this season. Every home in London’s going to have that game system, by the time Christmas is over. And buried right in the middle of the machine is the most dangerous chip the Master has ever designed.”

The Doctor pauses to take a breath, and Rose stares at him with her mouth hanging open. From the very moment she met him in the basement, she never operated under the illusion that he was  _normal_. But all this gibberish is miles further south of normal than she’d suspected.

“We have to warn Mr. Henrik,” the Doctor says, his expression grave and worried. And no matter how south of normal he is, Rose can’t imagine leaving him like this, still so obviously in distress. Her mum would mock her for taking in another stray, just like she always did when she was a kid, picking up baby birds that had fallen out of their nests near the estate and bringing them home to nurse back to health.

The Doctor reaches a hand toward her, fingers wiggling invitingly. “Mr. Henrik is expecting me home for dinner, we can tell him then. Will you come, Rose?”

She nods slowly. What is she  _doing_?

“Brilliant.” The Doctor claps. “I think he’ll believe me on his own, after all, I didn’t lead him astray on the spaghetti with syrup, but it’ll be nice to have someone else there that heard it, too.”

He moves to pull her toward the door, but she tugs him back. “Uh, costumes? I’d prefer not to go walking around the city looking like this.”

His eyes drop, taking a long, slow survey back to her eyes that makes the back of her neck go hot.

“I told you earlier,” he says. “You look beautiful.”

She laughs and tries not to take the compliment to heart. “I look mental.” Shooing him back around the shelves, she retrieves her clothes and begins to change. “If you want to keep that get up on, that’s your decision – no way we’ll get a cab to stop for us though.”

“Cabs don’t stop at all, Rose,” he says, like he’s imparting some great wisdom. “Run you right over.”

She’s slipping her shoes back and buttoning her trousers when the Doctor’s head appears around the corner.

“Ready?” He says, and when she nods, he steps out from behind the shelves. He’s changed, too, regardless of what he’d just said. His suit is still pleasantly rumpled, hair askew from he’d apparently tried to right it after removing his hat.

“Ready,” she confirms. He takes her hand again and this time she laces their fingers together, stomach flipping when he smiles in reponse.

They cross through the department on their way out, and Cassandra narrows her eyes at them. “You! Don’t think you’ll get away with that!” She marches over to them and stands with her hands on her hips. “What did you nick? Jewelery? Money? Let me see it and then I’ll decide if I’m calling the authorities.” Cassandra’s voice is near screeching, and she’s pointing at a bulge in the pocket of Rose’s trousers.

What’s in there – oh, the  _mistletoe_. Rose reaches into her pocket, dangling the crumpled plant from her fingers.

Cassandra stomps away without responding, and the Doctor grins at Rose. “You kept it!” He looks completely delighted, tongue touching the front of his teeth and Rose tries to force down a grin. He looks too smug, and too charming, to stand for it.

“Well, some nutter’s been dragging me around all day, didn’t have much time to pitch it, did I?” But she shoves it back in her pocket just the same.

The escalator is only a slightly quicker process this time, but soon they’re out on the street, snow falling steadily and coating the gruond. The Doctor looks up at the sky briefly, cheeks already going pink with the cold air, and then he’s zig-zagging her across the city.

“Normally I’d stop to help with that,” he says, and gestures to where a group of children are building a snowman in a park, “But we really should get over to the Henrik’s.”

It doesn’t seem as weird as it would have that morning, a grown man that stops and makes a snowman with kids he doesn’t know, so she shrugs, “Next time then,” she says.

“Oh, definitely. We can also make some snow angels, go ice skating,” he’s ticking the list off on the fingers of his free hand. “Find some cookie dough and eat that – quickly, of course. Afterwards it might be nice to snuggle.”

He stops then, staring at her intently on the sidewalk, “Rose Tyler, do. you. snuggle?” The words are said with an emphasis on each, like this is of grave importance.

She nods slowly, and he gives her a huge grin in response. That was clearly the correct answer.

“Good, because I’ve discovered a few things since I’ve been here and I wouldn’t want to share them with someone who hates snuggling. A person like that couldn’t possibly appreciate the world’s best cup of coffee.”

He starts moving again, and soon they’re in front of a posh building. The doorman tips his cap at the Doctor and then opens the door for them. There’s a Christmas tree in the lobby, sparkling merrily.

“Eight and two-thirds feet,” he says, like he’s expecting her to ask. She wants to make a joke about blokes and their obsession with length, but she has a feeling it wouldn’t quite land.

The lift dings and they enter, the Doctor visibly restraining himself after pressing only a single button.

“It’s up at the top,” the Doctor says. “Mr. Henrik, well, Pete, he might let you call him Pete, he lets me call him Pete, only I don’t always do that because ‘Mister’ is fun to say, say it – ‘ _Missss-terrrr_.’”

She’s just about to ask him when he found time to apparently eat another batch of Aero bars when the lift stops and doors open again.

Just beyond isn’t a corridor of doors, it’s a grand split-level foyer, because Mr. Henrik apparently owns the two top floors of the building. There are garlands and tinsel decorating the banisters and mirrors and artwork, along with what looks like hand-cut paper snowflake chains that are fantastically elaborate.

Rose hasn’t had much time to be nervous, but the minute she gets a glance at this impressive apartment — and it’s a proper apartment, not a flat like she and her mum share — it dawns on her exactly where she is. Who she’s about to meet. Who she’s with.

The Doctor has already bounded out of the lift, hand still holding hers, but because she’s rooted to the spot he pulls up short and turns to look at her.

“Well, c’mon, we can’t waste time!” he says.

Rose hesitantly lifts her free hand, pointing vaguely at what lies beyond the lift doors. “This is Mr. Henrik’s apartment.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows lift and he tilts his head. “Ye-e-e-e-esss.”

“Mr. Henrik, of Henrik’s department store.”

The lift  _dings,_ and the doors begin to close. The Doctor yanks her by the hand and she’s pulled forward, through the doors and onto the granite tiles of the foyer. “Eep!”

“You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me,” the Doctor says with a smile and an eyebrow wiggle. Then, still staring at her, he opens his mouth and shouts “Pete!” so loud that she jumps.

“In here,” comes a tired reply.

Rose keeps a death-grip on his hand as he leads her through the foyer and formal drawing room, around the corner in a dining room and come into the kitchen. Big and elegant, gleaming like it’s hardly used, it looks like something out of a magazine. Pete is sitting at a breakfast bar on one side of the island in the middle of the room, a messy pile of newspapers spread out in front of him and a French press full of coffee off to one side.

Rose has seen him before, of course — in the employee training video during her first day at work, and in news conferences on telly. He was even in a few ads for Henrik’s, grinning and giving a thumbs-up with his catchphrase: “We’ve got everything your family needs — trust me on this!”

He glances up as they enter the room, his gaze flickering over Rose in surprise.

“Picked up a stray, did you?” he asks. If someone else had said it, Rose might feel offended; as it is, it’s spoken so good-naturedly, she laughs. And here she’d thought  _she_  was the one picking up a stray by staying with the Doctor this evening.

Obviously everything is about perspective.

“Every Doctor needs a helper. Or assistant. Personal valet? Bodyguard? Companion?” The Doctor seems to be winding up, his mouth about to run away with him — Rose has only known him a day, and she already recognizes the signs.

“Companion is good,” she says, stepping forward. She has to wiggle her hand free from the Doctor’s before offering it to Pete. “Rose Tyler. I work with the Doctor in the toy department.”

“It’s a pleasure, Rose. I’m Pete. I — ah — well, the Doctor showed up at my doorstep two days ago, sort of like a full-grown foundling, and he’s taken up residence in my guest suite, so I suppose he’s my houseguest. He’s … helping me with a few things.”

“Rose is up to speed,” the Doctor says, breezing past her and going to the cabinet to get a mug. He opens a canister that’s sitting on the counter, lifts it up and turns it over, filling at least three-quarters of the mug with sugar. Then he helps himself to the coffee in the French press, filling the rest of the mug with the brown liquid, creating a goopy, sugary sludge.

“Don’t worry, she’s on the nice list,” he says to Pete, lifting the mug to his lips and swallowing a few mouthfuls. “And she’s going to help us. Aren’t you, Rose?”

“That’s me, here to help,” Rose replies without thinking, morbidly fascinated by the way the Doctor is chewing his coffee.

The Doctor hops up to sit on the kitchen island near Pete’s chair, feet dangling and swinging back and forth like a child’s. Glancing down at his mug, as though something has just occurred to him, he extends it toward Rose. “Want a sip?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

“All this research, and I haven’t found anything,” Pete says with a sigh, pushing back from the counter and the pile of newspapers.

“That’s why we’re here! We’ve got news!” He pauses, forehead wrinkling in consternation, and glances at Rose. “We do, don’t we? What was it again?”

“The shipment, on Friday,” she supplies helpfully.

“Yes! That’s right! The shipment, on Friday! We’ve got less than twenty-four hours to stop the delivery. And I’ve figured out just the thing to do it.”

Rose is surprised by that, she hasn’t left his side since they heard Saxon and Cassandra talking, and he certainly hadn’t seemed like a man thinking of a plan. A man thinking of sugar, maybe, but not a plan.

“Rose,” he says, turning to her, “Do you have any game consoles at your place?”

It’s sort of an uncomfortable question, standing in the middle of opulence like they are, and she and her mum with their unflat telly and the Xbox they only got when Mickey upgraded his.

“The older, the better,” he adds.

Well, in that case – “Yeah, I have an old Xbox,” she says. “Mickey though, you remember him from the shop? With the lap full of Shireen? He’d have more. It’s about the only thing he ever spends any money on, actually.”

The Doctor nods, and grabs a mobile phone, presumably Pete’s from near a stack of papers.

“Call them,” he says, handing her the phone. “Have them bring any game system they can find from before 2005.”

She stares at the phone in her hand, it’s a brand she’s never seen before.

“How does this work?” She says, but she’s already tapping at the screen. It responds intuitively, nothing like the rubbish she’s got from Toclafane. “Oh, this is  _amazing_.”

She lifts the phone closer to her face, trying to make out the manufacturer – “Vitex?”

The Doctor puffs his chest proudly, “Vital tech – Vitex. Things that do what you want them to do, when you want them to do them.”

He darts a glance at Pete, who’s looking on amused. “Pete came up with the name,” the Doctor adds.

The phone’s ringing now, and she pictures her mum scrambling to answer it on the end.

“Built it last night,” the Doctor crows.

“From my stereo system, and my landline, and the microwave oven,” Pete says, shaking his head, like he still can’t believe the Doctor’s real. Rose can’t either, frankly.

“Still, we could have a whole lot of them ready by Easter,” the Doctor says. “Affordable, functional mobiles, keep all those families in touch. Have to talk to the bunnies about delivery, but that shouldn’t be too hard…if one of you do it. They’ve still got their fluffy little tails in a knot over all that chocolate I ate. We’ll get there, we’ll get there,” he’s talking mostly to himself at this point. “Gotta save Christmas before we can fix Easter.”

“Hello?” Her mum’s voice echoes down the line.

“Mum!”

“Rose, honey, where are you? I thought you didn’t have to close tonight?”

The Doctor, who’d still been talking, muttering to himself, and making little finger-hopping bunnies on the counter, quiets to listen.

“I don’t, only I’m still sort of, well, working,” Rose says. “That old Xbox Mickey gave us, can you bring that over to – I’m sorry where are we?”

The Doctor shrugs, “The tall building? Wait, no, ask her if she knows where the bakery with the poinsettia-shaped biscuit is, from there, follow the tinsel that looks like grass,  _not_  pears, turn left at –”

Pete shakes his head, “Here, I’ll get your mum here,” and Rose hands over the phone.

There’s a quick relay of directions, and Pete hands the phone back, as her mother squawks on the other end, “Mum.  _Mum_ , I’ll explain, just come, please.”

Her mum finally agrees, and Rose signs off, thumbing out the number for Mickey next.

Pete takes over that call, too, clarifying that he is, in fact, speaking with a young man who apparently had a lap full of his coworker in the Henrik’s break room this afternoon, and soon Mickey’s also on his way.

Pete and Rose make small talk as the Doctor paces, a look of intense concentration on his face. Finally he whirls around to face them both, his attention fixing on Pete. “How’s anyone supposed to think, with all that chatter? I can’t plan properly with both of you nattering away!” He takes a deep breath. “I need help concentrating.”

Pete leaps to his feet at startling speed, holding one hand out in front of himself protectively. “Oh, no. No, no, no,  _no_.” He backs away. “I told you, I’ll do whatever it takes to help get my company back, but not  _that_. Not again.”

Worry knots at the back of Rose’s throat, and she steps closer to the Doctor. “What is it?”

Pete’s gaze snaps to her, and a small, victorious  _ah!_  bursts out of him. “Her! Ask her!”

The Doctor sighs and turns to Rose. “The Master is stone cold brilliant, and so am I,” he says. He isn’t boasting, just stating plain fact. “If I’m going to figure out exactly how to re-program these microchips, I need help concentrating.”

“You just swallowed a cup full of caffeinated sugar, I can’t imagine why you’d have a hard time concentrating,” Rose replies wryly. But then again, she did say she was here to help, didn’t she? “All right, Doctor. What do you need?”

The Doctor face lights up and he beams at her. It’s infectious — the smile of a man who’s been presented with exactly what he wanted for Christmas, all wrapped in a shiny bow — and Rose finds herself smiling back.

“Come on!”

She follows him out of the kitchen, through a piano room, and into a brightly-lit den. Sprawling, marshmallow-like white leather couches fill the space, and a massive entertainment system occupies one wall. The entire setup looks like something out of a science fiction show.

“Right! What now?” Rose is having visions of using the screen for a brainstorming session, creating Powerpoint presentations, maybe whipping up some notecards and writing down ideas so they can be put in a certain order. All the old tricks she used to use at school, back in the days before she met Jimmy Stone, when she still cared about trying to get her A-levels.

The Doctor leaps across the back of the couch and begins tossing pillows willy-nilly, muttering to himself again in that strange language (not Swedish, Rose has decided. Faroese, maybe?). When he’s made a pile in the center of the couch, he looks up at her as though she’s being slow on the uptake.

“Well, come on, haven’t got all night! Your mum and Mickey will be here in a tick, I’ve got lots to think through!”

Rose walks around the couch, hands on her hips. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Here,” he says, taking her by the hand and drawing her to sit on the couch.

He’s on her in an instant, and a rush of worry shoots through her spine as his arms slide around her torso and his body weight settles against her side. She smothers a small sound of panic as it immediately becomes apparent that he isn’t doing anything except leaning. Leaning and hugging.

“Oh, this is nice,” he says, and there isn’t anything sinister or mischievous in his words or demeanor. He’s radiating contentment and pleasure, without a single ulterior motive. She isn’t worried about where his hands are, or where they’ll be in a second; she doesn’t need to, because it’s apparent that’s not what this is all about. “This will do.”

“Snuggling,” Rose says as it dawns on her, the significance of his question earlier, as they walked to Pete’s flat,  _Rose Tyler, do. you. snuggle?_

“Promotes endorphin and serotonin release, improves circulation, encourages creative thinking. Plus, I’m an excellent snuggler, I always get compliments.” And with that declaration, he nuzzles against her, head resting on her shoulder and arms laced around her waist.

The tension drains from Rose’s shoulders, her spine relaxes, and she takes a slow breath. This is quite nice, she decides. Pleasant. If he handed her a comment card and asked her to fill it out, to rate this snuggling experience, she would tick off the “excellent” box without hesitation.

For all the ways the Doctor has acted childlike over the course of this completely barmy day, it is very clear to Rose that he is most certainly  _not_  a child. Not with the way he feels against her, warm and wiry and solid; the way he smells, cloves and cinnamon and something decidedly masculine; the way he hums contentedly, a deep bass sound in the back of his throat. His long fingers curl at her waist, his neck bent at an awkward angle as he tries to rest against her.

Her stomach starts quivering again, but for an entirely different reason now.

“This could be more comfortable,” she says, surprised at how steady her voice sounds. Lifting up her arms and shifting sideways, she leans back into the pile of pillows he’d arranged, being careful not to let herself go too horizontal, but freeing up her arms so one rests along his shoulders, and the other rests on his forearm where it crosses her hip.

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. “Precisely what I need. Thank you, Rose.”

There’s a movement on one side of the room, and Rose swivels her head to find Pete standing at the end of the couch. “You all right?” he whispers, concern painted across his face. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked if you minded —”

“I would’ve said no, if I minded,” Rose replies, just as quietly. “I’m fine.”

Pete nods. “Last night, I ended up on that couch with him for half an hour before I could figure out how to extract myself. I’ll be close, so just give a shout if you need me.”

The Doctor makes that deep, happy humming noise again, and Rose wonders how long it’s going to take her mum and Mickey to get here. If she’s lucky, they’ll be tied up in traffic for hours.


	3. Chapter 3

The next thing Rose is aware of is the sound of her mum’s voice, high-pitched and strained, from somewhere near her feet.

“Rose –  _Rose_! Get up! I’m sure Mr. Henrik doesn’t need house guests napping on his nice, clean sofa.”

Pete’s voice follows as Rose blinks her eyes open.

“Oh, you’d be surprised how often that’s been happening lately, this one just collapses wherever he is when the sugar runs out,” Pete says, gesturing at the Doctor.

_The Doctor_.

The Doctor who is lying on top of her, in front of her mum, and Mickey, too.

She sits up quickly, grateful when the Doctor doesn’t make a fuss. He just smiles at her.

“You know, some people think it becomes  _cuddling_  instead of snuggling when one or more of the parties involved is asleep,” he tells her. “I think they’re the same though.” He winks at her.

“Rose, honey,” her mum’s tone is still strained, like she’s trying to stay polite. “Did you invite us over here to watch you _snuggle_  with – I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” She looks pointedly at the Doctor, mouth in a tight line.

“Oh, I’m the Doctor!” He’s up off the sofa with a jump and shaking her mum’s hand.

“Jackie Tyler,” her mum says.

He stares at her for a moment, eyes squinting, and then turns back to Rose as she’s standing back up.

“Nice list,” he murmurs. “But  _barely_.”

Rose smothers a grin down, “And Doctor, this is Mickey. Mickey, the Doctor works in toys. I’m up there, too, now, actually.

This time the Doctor’s handshake is a bit more firm, and he’s still got the same scrutinizing look about him.

“If you’re in toys, what do you lot need with all these old game systems?” Mickey finishes the handshake and jerks his thumb back to the entrance of the room, where shopping bags full of wires and electronics sit.

Both Mickey and her mum keep glancing at Rose, eyes wide, like they’re looking for explanations about more that just video games, but she hasn’t got any to give. It’s not exactly where she thought this day would end up either.

Instead of answering, the Doctor bounds across the room, pulling the shopping bags apart.

“These’ll do nicely!” And then he’s yanking off covers and untangling wires, a kid on Christmas morning, in a body Rose is admittedly growing fond of.

The Doctor is so focused on the task at hand, it’s as though he’s in his own world and the rest of the room has disappeared. Reaching into the pocket of his pinstriped jacket, he pulls out a pair of specs and slides them onto his face, his tongue caught between his teeth as he turns Mickey’s game console upside down and squints at it.

Jackie is saying something to Rose, but Rose can’t begin to make out any words, not right now. Her knees have gone wobbly, and every sound has dulled to a soft buzz, and she can’t stop staring at the lanky man who is currently cracking open the back of Mickey’s Xbox.

The Doctor should come with health warning labels pasted across his chest,  _Wears sexy specs and sultry look of concentration for detail work._

“Oi!” Mickey shouts, charging across the room. “Put that down! Put it back together, and put it down!”

“Pete, where’s your soldering iron?” the Doctor says as he pokes at the circuit boards inside the plastic casing, as though Mickey isn’t hovering menacingly above him with fists clenched.

“I — I don’t think I have one. I might have a hair dryer, though.”

Jackie makes a soft noise that nearly sounds like a giggle ( _a giggle? Coming from her mum?_  Rose’s attention finally leaves the Doctor, and she finds Jackie standing next to Pete and blushing).

“A hair dryer?” Jackie says, arching her eyebrows and directing a pointed look at the close-cropped, thinning ginger hair atop his head.

Pete shrugs. “When my wife died a few years ago, I kept a few of her things.”

Jackie’s grin drops. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize —”

“No, it’s fine,” Pete replies, soberly but not somberly. He surveys Jackie thoughtfully. “You remind me of her a bit, actually. Same eyes, and the same hair.”

“Hair dryer will do nicely,” the Doctor calls impatiently from across the room.

“I’ll get it,” Jackie volunteers, still sounding apologetic, color still in her cheeks. “Just point me in the direction.”

“It’s this way.” Pete gestures vaguely toward the stairs. “It’s a hike, to get there. I might as well show you.” And with that, they walk out of the room together.

It’s the most startling thing Rose has seen all day, and this has been a bar-setting twenty-four hours in that department.

“Stop hovering, I need some space to think,” the Doctor says to Mickey in exasperation. “Rose, will you get me some tea, please? I need something to clear the synapses.” He waves toward his head.

“You’ve ruined my Xbox!” Mickey practically shouts, looking like he’s barely able to contain himself from kicking the man on the floor in front of him.

Rose steps over to put a hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “He’ll put it back together when he’s done with it. Won’t you Doctor?”

The Doctor grunts noncommittally, still entirely focused on the electronics in front of him.

“C’mon, I’m starving. I’m sure there’s some dinner in the kitchen, too — let’s see what we can find,” Rose says, tugging Mickey away.

Rose pours a mug full of sugar with a drop of tea and brings it to the Doctor, then she and Mickey start digging in the refrigerator and cabinets. By the time Pete and Jackie reappear from upstairs with the hair dryer, they’ve already got food bubbling on the stove. Everyone pitches in with the cooking, and within short order there’s a proper meal — the Doctor comes in from his work in the den, and all of them sit around the kitchen table together. It’s strangely comfortable, almost like family, boisterous and happy.

Afterward, Pete and Jackie and Mickey scrub up the dishes, while the Doctor draws Rose into the den with him to resume his work. He plops onto the floor and sets about tinkering with the strange mish-mash of circuit boards he’s soldered together with a makeshift soldering iron he fashioned from bits of the hairdryer. Rose lays down on the couch, on her stomach, arms folded over the armrest and head resting on her forearms as she watches.

“I remember you,” he says abruptly, not looking at her. “We’ve met before.”

“Mmm? What do you mean?”

“Before this morning in the basement at Henrik’s, I mean.” Still focused on the task at hand, sparing her only a few glances, the Doctor explains, “Nine years ago was the foggiest Christmas on record. Like pea soup, covering so much of the northern hemisphere it was impossible to fly. There’s this one reindeer, he’s got a bit of a thing with his nose” — the Doctor taps the tip of his own nose — “Anyway, I helped Santa that year, fashioned a magnifying device to make that reflective nose into a spotlight to help him navigate through the bad weather.

“Santa was quite grateful, and let me ride along. It’s a big honor, y’know, to ride in the sleigh, much less on Christmas Eve – _ouch_!” A spark flies from the circuit board, and the Doctor sticks his singed index finger in his mouth.

He shakes the hand out, glancing at Rose before focusing on his work again. He almost seems  _shy_ , for some reason.

“We made a stop in the Powell Estate that night — quite a few stops, actually. But one flat I recall quite clearly, four foot three inch blue spruce tree in the living room, and a blond girl sleeping on the couch. Looked to be about twelve years old. Santa let me do that delivery myself — red bicycle with a bell on it.”

Rose is staring at him, eyes wide. She has a very clear memory of that night, actually; she had sneaked out of bed and gone into the living room, hoping to catch her mum putting the presents out. Except instead of catching her mum, she’d woken up in the middle of the night and seen a boy, slightly older than herself, settling that red bicycle up against the wall beside the tree.

She ought to have been scared, seeing a stranger in the flat — she ought to have screamed bloody murder. But the boy, decked out like a character from a Christmas play, had winked at her, and she’d smiled back at him and watched silently as he slipped right out the window.

It had never seemed worth it to examine the memory too much. There was something sort of magical about it all, and even her mum had been surprised to see the bike in the morning.

If it ended up being something like community outreach for the holidays, or old Mrs. Toomey from two doors down dealing with never having gotten grandkids, Rose didn’t want to know. She hadn’t even told anyone about the boy, just that when she woke up, the bike was there.

But now, the Doctor is telling  _her_  about the boy, telling her that it’s  _him_ , and it’s all gone from hard to believe to impossible.

“How could you possibly know that?”

He goes back to the circuit boards, shrugging. “I just told you – because I was there.”

She knows what he said, what he told her, but she’s floundering still. “With Santa – you were there with  _Santa_?”

Looking up again, he gives her a soft smile. “Ye _-p_.” He pauses, like he’s trying to decide on something, and then he nods to himself, confirming his choice. “You know, I’d love for you to meet him. He’ll want to meet you, too, once we save Christmas, I mean.”

All those unexplained things around the Estate on Christmas, medicine for Mickey’s gran, that dollhouse Rose knows is still in Shireen’s room, jackets and gloves, and toys none of them could afford, they had to come from somewhere – why not Santa?

For just a moment, she lets herself believe.

The Doctor’s eyes wide, back going straight and rigid as he nearly jumps from the floor. A wide grin breaks out on his face. “Do it again.”

“Do what again?”

He gestures at her with the tool in his hand. “Believe,” he says, voice rising in pitch through the smile that hasn’t left. “Do it again!”

She concentrates, thinking about action figures and make up kits, all the kids gathered in the rec room, showing off their gifts. The parents crowded around and whispering.

His smile gets even bigger. “You’ve got it, keep going!”

It takes root in her mind – Santa is real. Santa Claus is  _real_. She follows the feeling, letting it settle over her, and the Doctor’s smile slips until he’s gazing at her proudly.

“There, now,” he says. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

Before she can stop herself, she’s off the sofa and across the floor, stooping low to give him a hug. The angle is awkward and the Doctor loses balance, toppling backward and taking Rose with him.

It’s a familiar position, from the stock room earlier. Had that really only been this afternoon? It’s brighter now, without all the teddy bears, and when she catches the Doctor’s eye, he still looks proud. Proud and happy.

His gaze sharpens then, and he licks his bottom lip quickly, before angling his head up to kiss her cheek.

He pulls back quickly. “Sorry.” She feels a rush of affection, and a little bit of regret, just a few centimeters left and –

“You missed,” she says.

He looks confused. “What?”

“You miss–”

Her mum’s voice rings through the room, “Rose, where are you?”

She pulls back, shuffling off the Doctor and getting to her feet, cheeks flushed and tingling.

“Still in here, Mum,” she calls back, and then softer, looking down at where the Doctor is sitting back up. “No archery range at the North Pole?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Target practice,” she says, pointing at her lips with a grin.

“Oh,” the Doctor says, “ _Oh_.” He pushes himself up, moving to stand right in front of her. “We don’t play this game a lot, up there. Let me have another go.”

His head dips down, coming closer, on track this time, and then she hears her mum.

“There you two are!”

The Doctor springs back, and Rose jumps a little, too. They both turn to stare at Jackie; she stares back, gaze drifting between the two of them and eyes narrowed.

“Mickey wants to know how much longer this is supposed to be. Apparently he’s got a date with Shireen, starting about half an hour ago, and his mobile’s been ringing off the hook.”

“Mister Rickey is free to go, as long as his Xbox stays,” the Doctor replies, executing a quick turn and collapsing back into a cross-legged position on the floor, like a cat.

“I’ll just let him know, then. And how long are  _we_  going to be?” Jackie says to Rose, right eyebrow lifted and hand on her hip.

“I dunno,” Rose admits, glancing at the Doctor. “I promised him I’d help, so … until we’re done, I suppose.”

“Pete says all this malarkey” — she waves her hand in the direction of the mess of electronics on the floor — “has to do with getting his shop back from that Saxon fellow who took over right after you were hired, Rose. Is that so?”

“He’s not a nice man, mum. And he’s planning something terrible,” Rose says.

“Planning what, exactly?”

It occurs to Rose that she has absolutely no idea. She’d missed the specifics, or rather, the Doctor hadn’t bothered to mention them.

“Psychic control through biometrically linked microchips,” the Doctor supplies helpfully from the floor. “He’s manipulated the toy market so his game system will be in every house before the New Year. Once they are, he’ll be able to control anyone at any time – the chips work exponentially, it’s a self-replicating psychic matrix, once it’s activated it’ll spread from person to person. Everyone within proximity to one of those chips, or in proximity to someone controlled by a chip, is going to turn into the Master, for all intents and purposes.” He glances at Jackie. “Er, that’s Harold Saxon, to you. And between us, I don’t even think he cares that his whole scheme has landed him on the Naughty List.” The Doctor makes a tutting noise. “It’s shocking.”

Face deadpan, Jackie stares at the Doctor for a long moment while he pries at part of a video game with a flat-headed screwdriver.

“Was that English?” she finally says.

“We’re helping Pete, that’s the important thing,” Rose says. “And we’ll be helping a lot of other people, too.”

Jackie nods. “Well, I suppose it’s left to me to keep that poor man company till you’re done, then,” she says with an exaggerated air of resignation.

“That’s very kind of you, Mum,” Rose says, but she’s already disappeared to join Pete in the kitchen again.

A few hours later, just as Rose is nestling into the marshmallow couch and drifting off to the Doctor humming “Santa Claus is Coming To Town,” he leaps up from the floor and excitedly shouts, “ _A-HA_!”

Rose rockets to her feet, blinking and wiping her eyes. “What is it?”

“It’s done,” he replies simply, holding out his cupped hands. He’s holding a small sphere, made of glass on the outside, and inside is a complex system of whirling gears and flashing circuit boards. It looks like a beautiful steampunk ornament, topped by a mini-usb port where the hook would normally be to hang it on the tree.

“All we have to do is use Pete’s Vitex-enabled mobile to connect into the Henrik’s mainframe, and we’re in business,” he says.

“No problem, his mobile was on the kichen counter,” Rose says, thumb pointing toward the other room.

The Doctor sucks on the inside of his cheek and shifts from one foot to the other. “Getting the mobile from the kitchen is easy-peasy. Connecting to the Henrik’s mainframe is the tricky bit. Remote connection won’t do, we have to be hardwired in. And it happens to be located in Pete’s office at the flagship shop — except that office was recently commandeered by a disgruntled elf who calls himself Harold Saxon.”

The corners of the Doctor’s mouth lift the tiniest amount, and his eyes sparkle at her. “I don’t imagine a little harmless breaking and entering will land us on the Naughty List, not if it’s for such a good cause. What do you think, Rose?”

“Oh, I think we’ll be fine,” Rose says with a grin, nodding in agreement.

“Brilliant,” the Doctor says, ushering her toward the kitchen. “What about your mum? Do you think she’ll help?”

Rose stops short – the thought of putting her mum in danger isn’t a very pleasant one. And anyone trying to control the world through psychic…whatever it was, sounds like they could be incredibly dangerous.

The Doctor pauses, too, turning to face her, “I understand why you’d be worried,” he says. “My family is, well, my family is gone, and I miss them all the time. But, Rose,” he stops to set his hands on her shoulders, fingers curling into the material of her shirt. “If we don’t stop the Master, she’ll be in danger anyway. A lot more of it.”

Rose sighs, he’s right, of course, and relents, “We can ask her, but if she doesn’t want to –”

The Doctor smiles then, ducking to catch her eye, “If you’re going, she will, too. Don’t just get on the nice list by avoiding the naughty one, you know. You have to earn it, and if I had to guess – which I’m fantastic at, you’ll remember – I’d say your mum’s spot has a lot to do with you, wanting what’s best for you.”

It’s true, Rose can’t imagine her mum allowing her to go haring off into danger without at least trying to help. The mess with Jimmy Stone had proven that much.

“Let’s go get her,” Rose says.

“Them,” the Doctor replies. “We’ll need Pete, too.”

They turn the corner toward the kitchen and Pete and her mum are huddled close together, around the exact mobile phone they’re going to need. It looks like he’s showing her mum how it works, her mum smiling a smile Rose has only seen a few other times before. Usually directed at Harold down at the market.

“You know, I think she might even enjoy this,” the Doctor adds, before sweeping into the kitchen.

The Doctor quickly explains the plan – he and Rose will break into Saxon’s office, while her mum and Pete create a distraction on the first floor. There’s no way Saxon will stand for Pete being in the building, so while he’s downstairs dealing with them, Rose and the Doctor will make their move.

They bundle up, and Pete offers to lend her mum a heavier coat. The one she’d worn over is too thin, not meant for standing on the sidewalk in the snow after being escorted from London’s premiere department store after hours.

Her mum accepts the coat with only the tiniest of protests and Rose doesn’t miss the slight sniff she gives the collar as she puts it on. If Pete smells anything like the Doctor, Rose can’t blame her.

It’s not always been easy for her mum – a husband that died young in a car accident, leaving her with a baby to support, and she could use something good in her life. Pete’s eyes crinkle at the sight of her mum in his coat, and Rose hopes this will be it.

When they’re all bundled up, the Doctor gently settles the phone and the ornament into the pocket of his coat, and it’s like they disappear, fabric smooth. Rose gives him a questioning glance and he beams.

“Same tech as Santa’s bag,” he says. “It’s a whole different dimension in there.”

He removes his hand from his pocket, offering it to Rose as he leads the group to the lift.

The streets are almost empty, Christmas lights reflected prettily on the snow, as they make their way to the shop. Even with the heavier coat, her mum’s is tucked up close to Pete and Rose almost laughs until she realizes she and the Doctor are walking the same way. Rose’s hand is still held in his, but he’s put them both in his pocket. She can’t feel anything else in there, not the ornament or the phone or even the bottom of the pocket, and she marvels once again at the way her day has turned out.

Henrik’s is still lit up, holiday hours mean they’d only closed their door less than 20 minutes ago. Rose and the Doctor are meant to enter through the back entrance and she keeps her mum in sight for as long as she can. Pete makes a big show of pulling out his key, speaking loudly.

“Don’t worry, Jackie, we’ll get you sorted,” he’s saying. “Can’t let you fall behind on your Christmas shopping.”

Rose hears the sound of the door opening as she and the Doctor round the corner to the alley alongside the store.

“She’ll be fine, Rose,” the Doctor’s voice is low, close to ear, and it makes something settle warm in her abdomen. “Pete’s a good man, he won’t let anything happen to her.”

Rose nods and gives him a small smile, trying to stuff down her nerves and the way the Doctor’s making her feel.

“I won’t let anything happen to  _you_  either, you know,” he adds, hand tightening on hers as the back entrance comes into view.

She squeezes back. “We’ll take care of each other.”

It’s quick work, the Doctor jimmying open the door. They slip inside, and before Rose can start up the service stairs, he grabs her around the waist and pulls her back.

“Give Jackie and Pete a minute to get everyone in security riled up,” he murmurs in her ear, glancing toward the ceiling. Rose follows his gaze and finds a security camera above them, aimed just so she would’ve run right into its field of view if he hadn’t stopped her.

His hands linger for a moment longer than is necessary on her hips, palms pressing into the curve of her waist. There’s plenty of room here for her to stay out of sight of the camera, but she doesn’t move from where he’s deposited her, just in front of where he’s leaning against the wall. His feet are spread wide enough that hers fit between.

Easing back a few inches, she turns her head and whispers, “What do you suppose my mum and Pete are doing to get attention?”

His face is right there, so close that his breath tickles her cheek, cool and pepperminty. “Dunno. Your mum seemed like a woman who doesn’t mind making a scene, if the mood strikes her.”

Rose laughs. “If you only knew.”

“C’mon, it’s time,” he says, slipping out from behind her and pulling her up the stairs. They dash all the way to the top floor. The entire thing is corporate offices for the high-ranking officers at Henrik’s, long white hallways decorated with sales posters with office doors every few feet. The Doctor seems to know exactly where he’s going, because he leads them through the maze of corridors without pausing, only hesitating when he thinks someone might be approaching.

No one does. The entire floor is like a ghost town. Rose suppresses a shiver.

They come to large double mahogany doors, and the Doctor leans his ear to them, listening for a long minute. Then he grasps the big brass handle engraved with an elaborate  _H_ and pushes.

The door swings open. Waiting inside is Harold Saxon.

He’s sitting behind the large desk, leaning back in the tufted leather chair, feet propped up in front of him. A thick cigar is clenched between his teeth, and a smile breaks across his face at the sight of them both.

The Doctor freezes in front of Rose, his hands extending protectively to keep her behind him.

The Master sucks in a long, slow lungful from the cigar, and lets out a stream of smoke that twists and swirls and bears a striking resemblance to a candycane stick. If the circumstances had been different, Rose would have been utterly beguiled.

“Did you really think that little stunt Pete pulled down in the lingerie department would lure me out of this office?” the Master says, delicately settling the cigar into a nearby ashtray. “It was clever, throwing in the chav to confuse me, but I’m hardly a penguin fledgling right out of the egg. I know a distraction when I see one.”

_Lingerie department?_ Rose decides she doesn’t want to know the details.

“I won’t let you activate the microchips,” the Doctor says. He seems surreally calm, almost at ease, although his hand finds Rose’s forearm and he gives her a warning squeeze before strolling forward into the room. Rose stays put, because she’s certain that’s what he was silently asking her to do.

“It’s hardly a matter of you  _letting_  me, Doctor,” the Master says. “I’m going to do it.”

The Doctor slides casually into one of the chairs in front of the desk, long limbs sprawling as he settles in.

“No, you’re really not,” the Doctor says. “We can spend some time chatting about it though, if you’d like.” He laces his fingers behind the back of his head, stretching out even further.

There’s an undercurrent to his voice that Rose can detect even from the hallway, a sort of sharp-edged restraint that’s a complete change from the tone she’s heard all day.

“Well, if we’re going to chat, don’t you think we should invite your little friend in?” The Master’s gotten louder now, “Rose, was it? Why don’t you come in here, love?”

Rose smothers the urge to stomp into the room, frustrated that things didn’t go according to plan. They hadn’t even  _talked_ about what to do if Saxon was still in his office, and now here they are, caught.

Still, she keeps her head perfectly level, her shoulders back, entering with a confidence she doesn’t entirely feel. The Doctor gives her a small smile and a wink, and suddenly it doesn’t seem quite so hopeless.

“Perfect,” the Master drawls. “ _Now_  we can begin. Although, I have to say, I didn’t think you had it in you, Doctor – a _human_? And you couldn’t even be bothered to pick one from the naughty list? How do you ever expect to keep things interesting?”

Rose glances to the side, watching the Doctor’s jaw tighten, though he refuses to be baited.

“Have you even told her what you are?” The Master says. “Why you’re not at the workshop right now?”

It must be something to do with elves in general, Rose decides, this ability to talk for all the world. She much prefers the Doctor’s babbling to this though.

“What he’s told me is that you’re trying to take over the world,” Rose cuts in.

The Master lets out a short bark of laughter, “There’s another one of those words – ‘trying,’ ‘letting’ – as if there’s some doubt that I’ll succeed. But you see,  _Rose_ ,” the way he says her name is so different from the way the Doctor says it, so much more ugly, “There is  _no_ doubt, because it’s already begun.”

The Doctor sits up straighter then, “But – you said Friday!” He immediately looks disappointed in himself for reacting.

“As if I wouldn’t go over the security camera footage in my own store,” the Master tuts. “The two of you under that pile of teddy bears, listening to my plan. Nothing to be done, had to move it up.”

“You do realize that Santa is on his way as we speak. He’s coming to sort you right out,” Rose blurts out, full of confident bluster. The words sound absurd as they come out of her mouth — the whole situation is absurd, taken objectively, standing here threatening a bad elf with Santa’s arrival — but she doesn’t  _feel_  absurd.

She feels determined, and that belief she’d indulged in during her time with the Doctor at Pete’s apartment, it’s back in full force. She’s bluffing on the bit about Santa being on his way, of course, but she believes he  _could_  come, because he’s not just a kids’ story, he’s real.

He  _has_  to be.

The Master’s expression of smug disdain falters for a split-second, his gaze darting to the Doctor.

“As soon as we knew what you were up to, we sent word to the Home Office,” Rose continues, gaining even more confidence with each word.

The Doctor winces at that, and a laugh bursts from the Master, an edge of maniacal shrillness to it.

“Oh, darling, high marks for effort!” he says to her. “But our dear Doctor  _hasn’t_  told you what he is, has he? Not if you think the Home Office would listen to a word he says.” The Master pulls his feet off the desk and leans forward, gesturing at the empty chair beside the Doctor before he props his elbows in front of him and steeples his fingers.

Rose glances at the Doctor, and when he gives her a resigned nod, she takes a seat. The chair wobbles, and it strikes her as strange, that such a posh chair in such a posh office is so badly made. She’s already uncomfortable — the tension between the two men in the room is thick enough to suffocate in — and the fact that her chair feels like it’s about to tip over with every breath she takes only ratchets up her nerves. She tries to sit very, very still.

“Why don’t you tell your darling Rose, Doctor. Oh, of course she’s  _your_  Rose, don’t bother denying it, you look at this human the same way you looked at that seal pup you rescued ages ago, the one that chewed your nicest pair of red tights to shreds and vomited half-eaten fish all over your bed. So go ahead, look your darling Rose in the eyes and let’s air all our secrets, shall we?” the Master says.

“All right, all right, so I took the sleigh! It’s not as if Santa will mind, once he knows  _why_! I’m hardly out for a joyride!” the Doctor retorts, almost angrily, and Rose flinches. Her chair rocks again, and she instinctively glances at the ground. There’s a patch of uneven carpet under the back leg, a piece of square metal sticking out past its frayed edges. Something someone obviously tried to hide in a hurry.

The interface for a computer mainframe embedded in the floor, perhaps?

“Not out for a joyride  _this time_ ,” the Master interjects with an air of glee. “You forgot that bit. The previous half dozen times you took the sleigh are another matter entirely. You are the most notorious thief in the entire northern hemisphere!”

The Doctor looks like he’s about to leap to his feet indignantly, and Rose swings her leg out far enough to kick him in the shin. Head whipping around, face scrunched up and mouthing  _ouch,_ he stares at her in bafflement.

Rose says loudly, “That’s not the point, though, is it, Master? The point is that you’re planning to remove the free will of every last human on earth, and as one of the humans who’s about to … well, to become  _you_ , I think I deserve to know why. ”

While she’s speaking she taps the torn carpet with her toe. The Doctor’s glance finally follows the movement, flickering down for only a brief second, and his eyes widen before he turns back to the Master.

“Brilliant! I’d like to know, too,” the Doctor says. His hand moves very slowly and deliberately, just below the Master’s line of sight behind the desk, toward his pocket. “I’ve hacked into your records, and not only are you manipulating the toy market this year, but the manufacturers who produced your game systems use child labor in their plants. How could someone raised with the advantages of who we are, where we come from, allow such horrid things to happen? Condone and support them, even?

“But don’t you see that’s the point, Doctor!” the Master spits back at him, cold and sharp. “All these humans, mewling and fighting and enslaving each other — we put so much time and effort into their happiness, into bringing them joy. They don’t deserve any of it. Not a single Etch-a-Sketch, not a solitary nutcracker, not a gumdrop or a speck of sugar. I’m saving them from their own squalid nature, elevating them to something higher. To … well, to me!” He grins, big and predatory and self-satisfied.

The Doctor has pulled Pete’s Vitex-enabled phone and its attached cord from his pocket. In a movement so quick it seems inhuman, he flips his chair backward and rolls out of it, springs onto the lump of carpet, rips it back, and hooks the mobile into a mass of blinking machinery underneath.

There’s a shout from the Master, and a loud popping noise from the floor, and the acrid smell of burning electronics fills the office.

Then the lights flicker out, and the office is suddenly plunged into pitch blackness.

Rose tries to focus her eyes, even the street lamps outside the window appear to have gone dark. She’s just about to reach out a hand to locate the Doctor when a buzzing surrounds her from both sides.

There’s a blue glow to her left, a golden one to her right, and the Doctor and the Master each seem to be holding small torches. They look like no torches she’s ever seen, and before she can get a better look, the lights are moving as the Master scrambles around the desk to the panel in the ground.

The Doctor jumps in front of him, the lights bouncing as they struggle. They’re moving so fast and it’s still dark enough that Rose can’t see who she’d be helping. There’s too much adrenaline in her veins though, she can’t just stand still, and so she lunges for the only place it’s clear the Master is – right at the golden light.

She topples into a body she hopes is the right one and when the blue light is able to move away, there’s a quick flash of relief. Then she’s flipped to her back, arms pinned above her head as the Master, torch in his teeth, looms over her.

“Rose!” The Doctor shouts as she squirms to free herself, “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

The Master’s face above her is sinister, eyebrows drawing down as he narrows his gaze. Still holding her wrist with his hand, he snaps them up, getting the torch between his fingers as he brings both their hands back down.

He twists the torch in his hand, until the light is shining brightly right next to Rose’s left eye, buzzing ominously.

“Fix it,” the Master snarls, glancing back to the control panel. “Fix it and we’ll talk.”

The blue light of the Doctor’s torch shifts, like he’s getting ready to move.

“Don’t!” Rose shouts, still struggling underneath the Master’s weight. He smells like tobacco and black licorice, and it’s starting to nauseate her.

“60 seconds, Rose,” the Doctor says, “A minute left to reverse the override, but –”

“Leave it!” her voice is louder still. “He can’t do it if he’s got to hold me down.”

The Master smirks, “Oh, yes, but I can do  _a lot_  to you in 60 seconds.” His grip tightens on her wrist, the tips of her fingers are starting to go numb, but she can hold out.

She  _will_  hold out.

“No need to hold down a body if it’s dead,” the Master continues. “Why do you think I chose laser over sonic? So much _quicker_.”

His thumb is moving on the length of the torch, adjusting something, and there’s just enough release of the pressure on her wrist that she’s able to swing up, knocking the torch from his grasp.

It clatters on the ground next to them and the Doctor dives for it, shifting quickly so both torches are pointed at Rose and the Master.

The Master’s face fills with fury and then it’s overtaken by a sickening smile as he grabs her hand and pins it down once more.

“Well, can’t say it won’t be enjoyable this way, too,” the Master says, twisting so that his forearm settles across Rose’s throat.

Before she can even register the weight of it, the Doctor has grabbed the Master around the middle, pulling him from Rose and into the bookcase behind them.

There’s a series of crashes as books rain down on them and those are definitely going to hurt more than teddy bears.

“20 seconds,” the Doctor hollers, still grappling with the Master. Rose runs to the control panel, shifting her body over as much of it as she can manage.

If that thing the Master’s got really is laser, it’ll probably not matter, but she’s willing to do anything at this point to help – oh, god, to help  _save the world_.

She counts down the seconds in her head, 12, 11, 10…

The Master gives a loud yelp, shoving at the Doctor, and Rose braces for an impact, but it doesn’t come.

Five seconds left and instead of running for her, the Master’s running for the fireplace in the corner of the office. He dives toward it, colliding with the logs as the last second ticks away and power flickers back on.

“Stop!” the Doctor shouts, but it’s too late. The Master raises a hand, laying a finger aside of his nose, and then he’s up the chimney.

Rose feels her jaw drop, “Did he – he didn’t. No. No  _way_.”

The Doctor crosses the room, helping her stand up.

“Never really liked that method myself,” he says, panting. “Always dirtied my suit.”

Rose is still trying to catch up, did he get away? Where did he go?

“Go get him!” she says. “I’ll clean your bloody suit!”

The Doctor shakes his head, resigned, “He’s gone. Probably had a reindeer stashed up there, and the sleigh’s all the way at Pete’s.”

Rose feels a rush of anger, fighting for space with the adrenaline still rabbiting through her veins, “So that’s it? He got away?”

The Doctor rubs at the back of his neck, “Well, for  _now_. There’s no way he’ll be able to rebuild before Christmas though, so I’d say we still saved the day.”

It’s not enough –she wants to get the Master, turn him over to the authorities,  _Santa_ ,  _somebody_  – but it’s going to have to be, and as her pulse slows, she’s aware of how much pain she’s in. She’s going to be bruised up good and proper tomorrow, even just shifting on her feet now makes her wince.

The Doctor catches it, rushing even closer, hands sweeping over her body.

“Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”

She notices a trickle of blood from his nose and raises her hand to it, swiping it away.

“It’s red,” she says, looking at the blood on the tip of her finger. “Thought it might be –”

“Green?” The Doctor says with a cheeky grin, hands stilling on her hips. “Still plenty festive this color though,” he nods at her hand.

She smiles back, and drops her hand to wipe it on her trousers, eyebrows drawing together in confusion at the lump she finds there.

“What is it? Let me see,” the Doctor says, worried again, running his fingers where hers have just left. He dips the tips of them into her pocket, trying to get closer, and then he grins.

“The mistletoe!” He crows, fishing it out and dangling it in the air.

She’s still upset that the Master has gotten away, but there’s something about standing there with the Doctor that feels calm, and reassuring. He won’t get away for long, and she knows right then that she’s going to stay and help the Doctor find him. She’s going to stay longer than that, even.

Moving her hand to his arm, she raises it higher, so that the mistletoe hangs above them.

She glances up at it, letting her tongue come out to touch the corner of her lips on a smile.

“Gonna hit your mark this time?” She says, and his eyes drop down to her mouth.

“Oh, I think so,” he says, head dipping closer as he wraps his free arm around her waist, tugging her into him.

Leaning up, she closes the last bit of space between them, touching her lips to his as her hands wind around the back of his neck.

He nips at her bottom lip lightly, before pulling back, “Candy, candy canes, candy corn, and Rose.”

She laughs, and tugs him back down, opening her mouth under his, as his tongue slips out to slide against hers. She moves her hands to his hair, fingers twining in the strands as he backs her up toward the desk. She hops on to it, the movement breaking the kiss.

“This going to land us on the naughty list?”

He moves down to kiss her again, stopping short to rub his nose against hers, “I think we’ll stay on the nice side,” he says, “Barely.”

Barely on the nice list, why does that sound familiar – “My mum!”

“Hmm?” The Doctor seems hypnotized, lost in a daze, his attention fixed on her mouth. He licks his bottom lip, leaning forward a few more inches.

“My mum and Pete!” Rose says, nudging his thigh with her knee.

“Oh. Oh!” He backs up a step and Rose hops off the desk, grabbing his hand. In a flash, they’re out the door and barreling down the stairs. There’s a trickle of adrenaline still running through Rose’s system, her lips still tingling, her heart hammering. Because they haven’t seen a glimpse of Cassandra yet, and Rose had been certain she would be skulking about somewhere near the Master.

They burst out of the stairwell on the ground floor and dash through shoes and perfume toward the lingerie department. A small crowd of store security and uniformed police officers are gathered there, shouting and milling about.

When they get close enough, it becomes apparent that there’s been some sort of showdown — Harold Saxon’s store security, led by Cassandra, versus the police, led by Pete and Jackie. Cassandra’s in handcuffs, and the store security guards are lined up and turning in their badges one by one.

Pete and Jackie are standing together in the midst of the hubbub, and Jackie’s pointing at the perfume section and saying, “…and then move jewelry right there, instead of handbags.”

Pete’s listening to her, his gaze sweeping over the layout of his shop, his expression bright. “Oh, Jacks, that’s clever,” he says. “Never thought of that before.”

_Jacks?_

“Mum, are you all right?” Rose says, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her into an embrace.

“It’s been a hell of a night,” Jackie replies, hugging back. She catches a glimpse of the Doctor’s slightly bloody nose and pulls back to examine Rose from head to toe. “What have you two been up to? Should we send some officers upstairs to collect Mr. Saxon?”

“He’s taken care of for now,” the Doctor says, shooting a glance at Pete. Pete’s mouth tightens and he nods. “But the important thing is that Henrik’s is back in the right hands, and the world’s as calm and bright as can be, ready for Christmas Eve tomorrow.”

“Just you wait until my Harold gets hold of you!” Cassandra wails from the other side of the lingerie racks. “You’ll be sorry!”

“Remove that woman from my property, officers, if you please,” Pete says to the policemen surrounding her. At the note of command in his voice, Jackie shoots a proud grin in his direction and takes a small step closer.

“Yes, Mr. Henrik.” With that, a screeching Cassandra is escorted out the door.

“Ooh, Lord, it’s been a long night. I think I could use a hot toddy to steady my nerves,” Jackie says.

The Doctor’s eyes brighten, his face lit up with curiosity. “A hot toddy? What’s that? Sounds delicious. Does it involve maple syrup?”

Pete glances at Jackie, nervously rubbing a hand across his close-cropped hair. “I’ve got a bottle of Dalmore Mackenzie sitting in my kitchen cabinet. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate on a night like this. And I wouldn’t mind hearing more of your thoughts about how to arrange the sales floor.”

Jackie’s smile is brighter than the ornaments glittering on the enormous tree in in the center of the room. “I suppose we could spare another hour or so, couldn’t we Rose?”

Rose steps back and takes the Doctor’s hand. “I suppose.”

A bottle of whisky, two bottles of honey, and quite a few hot toddies later, Pete has taken Jackie out on the terrace to stare at the lights of London. Rose is sleepily sprawled in an armchair, contemplating getting up and making herself another drink when the Doctor leans over the back of her chair and whispers in her ear, “I have something wonderful to show you.”

She’s out of the chair so fast her legs wobble and her head spins, her nose itches and she ends up letting out a great sneeze. She’s a bit unsteady on her feet, but follows along as the Doctor leads her to the second floor of Pete’s apartment, to the end of a long hallway. There, he opens a door and he lets her precede him up a ladder onto the roof.

Sitting right in the midst of exhaust vents and air conditioning units, is a sleigh.

It gleams in the starlight, an iridescent red with flecks of green, and even a few hints of the bluest blue Rose has ever seen. The entire thing is framed in gleaming chrome, from the runners to the rocket-like contraption strapped onto the back.

“Oh, my god,” she breathes, coming to a stop a few feet away. “Is that — is that what I think it is?”

“Stardust propulsion unit,” he says, gesturing proudly to the rocket, and then to the space behind the bench seat, “transdimensional present compartment, reindeer fuel storage.”

“No reindeer?”

“Only when the sleigh’s fully loaded with presents. For a cargo-less flight, like my trip down, the reindeer aren’t necessary.” Leaning against the front of the sleigh, he points to the control panel inside. “Speedometer, radio communicator, iPod dock, hot chocolate dispenser, and GPS navigator with Naughty/Nice indicator.”

In an attempt to execute a jaunty hop onto the runner, his own feet get in the way of each other, and he ends up sprawled on the floor of the sled in front of the bench seat instead.

He lets out a sound that sounds like a half-groan, half-giggle.

“That was impressive.” Rose climbs onto the seat above him and stares down at his red face. “You break anything?”

“Rose. Rose. This is serious. This is  _tragic_.”

Concern begins to cut through the pleasant haze of whisky buzzing through Rose’s brain and numbing her cheeks. “What happened?”

He arches his back and reaches behind himself, digging into his trouser pocket, and pulls out a candy cane. It’s bent clean in half, the curved part shattered into tiny pieces.

Rose blinks at the candy cane, then at the Doctor, and bursts into laughter. Once she starts she can’t stop, and she ends up breathless and sprawled along the bench seat, staring at the stars. The Doctor climbs up onto the bench with her, limbs stretching across her body as he nestles against her side. He’s too long for the space, and he ends up with one leg folded beneath her knees and the other propped up on the side of the sled.

His body is warmer than it has been since she first met him, probably the alcohol affecting his system; his laughter trails off as his face settles a few inches from hers, his breath sweet with honeyed whiskey. Pink and wet, his tongue slides across his own bottom lip as he surveys her from eyes to chin.

“Snuggling’s my favorite,” he says softly.

“I’m starting to see the appeal.”

The Doctor’s brows draw together, as though he’s trying to muster concern about something but can’t quite concentrate hard enough. “My ears feel like they’re stuffed with snow and my toes are humming.” His eyes cross as he tries to stare at his own nose. “And the end of my nose has a heartbeat.”

Rose giggles, nuzzling the tip of his nose with her own. Then, glancing behind his ear at the control panel, she says, “Naughty/Nice indicator?” The needle is fluttering steadily at the “nice” end of the spectrum.

“Mmm, useful in navigation. Pinpointing which houses to visit, when the Big Man’s double-checking his list.”

“And that needle moves, does it?”

He hesitates a second, and a thought seems to strike him. Rose hopes it’s the same thought that she’s fixated on right now. “Can do,” he says. “Depending on exactly how naughty someone’s being.”

“Show me.”

Eyes growing wider, he says, “What exactly did you have in mind, Rose Tyler?”

She leans in, mouth finding the Doctor’s, lips opening without hesitation. Her leg hikes up across his hip, and his flat hand presses into the small of her back, pulling her firmly against himself. Rose’s head is already spinning from the whisky, and within a matter of seconds she’s dizzy and lightheaded, fingers buried in the Doctor’s wild hair as he shifts his body atop hers and licks his way down her jaw. Everything smells like Christmas — cloves and cinnamon and honey — and she rocks her hips up against him. There’s a distinctly un-elf-like noise that comes from the back of his throat as he pushes down against her.

A loud, deep chiming noise comes from the control console beside them, accompanied by a flashing red light. The Doctor starts and pulls away, and they both stare at the needle that’s now hovering at the “Naughty” end of the meter.

“Oops,” Rose says, biting her lip before she lifts her head up high enough to touch her tongue to the long column of his throat, following that with lips and a sudden bit of suction.

The Doctor makes that noise again, trembling atop her, and the chiming alarm sounds again.

“Rose,” he rumbles, low and breathy.

“Doctor,” she replies. “I promise not to tell anyone about the naughty business if you don’t.”

The Doctor meets her gaze as he reaches down to fish something out of his pocket. He brings a circular peppermint up between them, strangely somber as he uses his thumb and index finger to push it out of its cellophane wrapper and pop it into his mouth.

“Peppermint swear?” he says, sucking on the mint.

“Yeah,” she replies. He leans down, lips opening, and she takes the peppermint off of his tongue and onto her own. One corner of her mouth lifts in a half-smile. “Peppermint swear.”

The chiming noise starts up again and doesn’t stop for a full two hours.


End file.
